


Sand and Steel

by HaziestShade



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, F/M, Intrigue, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, No Amnesia, Slow Burn, Violence, author reads too much ASOIAF, lots of dead bandits, moral dissonance, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaziestShade/pseuds/HaziestShade
Summary: Plegia and Ylisse stand on the brink of war and disaster. On one end stands the prodigious tactician of Plegia and on the other the prince of Ylisse. They have the potential to lead their countries to salvation or ruin.In other words an AU of Fire Emblem Awakening revolving around the Ylisse/Plegia war.





	1. Prologue: The Brink

**Author's Note:**

> So this story exists because while I always loved Fire Emblem Awakening I didn't care for many of the directions the plot took. I personally was much more invested in the Plegia vs. Ylisse war, so this is an expansion of that. It also features a grayer cast, so while I'll try and remain consistent to canon characterization, if anyone accuses me of being OOC they're probably right. This is my first multi chapter story, so any constructive criticism is much appreciated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story exists because while I always loved Fire Emblem Awakening I didn't care for many of the directions the plot took. I personally was much more invested in the Plegia vs. Ylisse war, so this is an expansion of that. It also features a grayer cast. So while I'll try and remain consistent to canon characterization, if anyone accuses me of being OOC they're probably right. This is my first multi chapter story, so any constructive criticism is much appreciated.

Chrom wondered as he rode through a tranquil meadow, when the war would start.

It seemed all but inevitable at this point. Even with Emmeryn's negotiations with Plegia, Gangrel was determined to have his war. He steadfastly refused any good will or offers of alliance. Not just refused but spat in the face of any diplomatic gestures.

How exactly he had gotten to be king of anything having been born in the gutters of Plegia, Chrom still had no clue. Unless Plegia selected it's monarchs based on lunacy and bloodlust.  _ It would have been better for everyone if he had died in the same slums from he rose from.  _ Chrom thought bitterly.

However much Emm preached peace he couldn't bring himself to see Gangrel as a potential ally or anything less than the mad tyrant of a mad country.

He supposed it was fitting then, that he wasn't the exalt not unless Naga forbid, Emm died. _Another reason to avoid war._ He thought, before another voice crept in. _Emm will be in danger war or no, Gangrel is a mad dog and he'll savage Emm with or without a war. At least with a war we could fight back. Lissa is in danger as well, as long as Gangrel lives they'll never be safe. Ylisse will never be safe._ Chrom shook the thought from his head. 

It’s not that he wanted a war. He didn't. He would have to talk to Emm, when they got back to Ylisstol about better protection for her and Lissa. As a precaution. Only a precaution. If Chrom had his way the title of Exalt would stay far from him.

Still protection was only one of many things they had to discuss, Chrom had rode out with the Shepherds weeks ago to Themis, to settle a dispute between two two the dukes. Duke Themis and Duke Southerland. He’d settled that easily once it became apparent that neither duke sent bandits to harangue the other’s lands. After a quick look and battle with their curiously well funded Plegian accented bandits a very different story emerged. He wondered how Emm would respond. For all Emm valued peace she wouldn’t stand by while “bandits” slaughtered their people.

"Milord!" A sharp voice intoned snapping Chrom out of his musings.

"Huh?!" Sputtered Chrom snapping to attention.

"There is smoke rising from the distance." Frederick said, pointing at a hill a hundred yards up. “I believe South Town is under attack.” Chrom searched the skyline seeing the smoke staining the blue sky.

"We'll ride to their aid!" Shouted Chrom authoritatively. Sully and Stahl stopped their bickering and pulled ahead. 

“Damn right, a spear in the belly, should teach them a sharp lesson.” Boasted Sully.

“They should never have gotten this far.” Chrom said grimly as they rode. 

Chrom unsheathed the Falchion. The sacred sword of King Marth had passed from his father to him. By right it should have been Emm's, but owing to her gender and temperament it had fallen to Chrom instead.

Chrom rode swiftly the Shepherds just behind him soon came to the small hamlet.

Entering the village Chrom observed his surroundings, it was a small collection of buildings with a river running through it and stone bridges to allow easy crossing. 

The market had been decimated with the sprawled corpses of several peasants strewn about and several of the humble homes aflame. 

Doubtlessly the village folk had sheltered in the stone temple of Naga in the middle of the town. 

The bandits had crowded around the door and one was hacking the heavy wooden door to pieces while the others shouted what was equal parts insults and encouragements. Chrom could hear screams and sobs emitting from within.

They turned quickly at the sound of hoofbeats. He took their measure seeing one mage in tattered robes, two burly axe men whose faces seemingly had seen the broad end of their axes, and a red clad myrmidon equipped with a sword red with either rust or blood.

At a cry from the mage a larger bandit more well dressed then the others rushed from one of the burning hovels his arms full of stolen goods, two more axemen followed on his heels. “Put em’ all to the sword and take all you can carry! I want enough gold for every whore in Plegia!” Shouted the well dressed Bandit, who had yet to notice them.

_ If his accent wasn’t enough to mark his as Plegian that last bit sure did. _

He grit his teeth.  _ We're outnumbered ten to four but our training and armour will give us an edge. Considering the state of their weapons, that'll be what they lack. _

“Sully, Stahl, take the bandits at the door, strike the mage first! Sir Frederick, you and I will take others!” He commanded.

He rode forward, The Falchion took the arm off one of the axemen before he even thought to dodge. Chrom slipped into the focused state battle always put him in.

“Aye, Milord!” Sully shouted. Chrom didn't turn, trusting her to follow his orders.

Chrom jumped from his horse and swung again this time felling the axemen with a spray of blood. The axemen clamped his hands to his torso and collapsed with a moan. To his right he saw Frederick's lance enter the throat of the other. The bandit crumpled with a gargle of blood.

_ The Falchion is almost too good for the likes of these.  _ Chrom thought.

The well dressed bandit dropped the goods to the ground and ran.

He didn't get more than five steps before Frederick's lance took him in the back.

Chrom turned towards the others. The mage lay dead in a pool of blood along with the other two axemen. The myrmidon had backed himself against the temple and was desperately fending off Stahl's strikes. Too busy countering Stahl's sword, Sully's lance took him unaware and he fell with a piercing scream.

He heard a scuff behind him and turned just in time to see a myrmidon dash out from behind a ruined stall, the myrmidon swung and Chrom hurriedly brought up the Falchion. The myrmidon's copper sword covered with nicks and encrusted blood clashed with the sword of heroes.

Chrom saw fear in the myrmidon's eyes before he forced the sword from his hands. The copper sword clattered to the cobblestones.

“Pleas-” The myrmidon didn't finish before Chrom brought the Falchion down.

Chrom looked around, no bandits came fourth, he could only assume they'd felled them all. He gestured at the well dressed bandit. “We ought to check their leader, his accent is Plegian, Themis and Southland is one thing, but we’re no more than a day from the Ylisstol.”

“Yes, Milord.” Frederick dismounted from his horse and went to the corpse of the well dressed bandit.

Sully and Stahl dismounted as well. Sully kicked disdainfully at the myrmidon's corpse. “Hardly worth it really, these lot were damn pathetic.” She said derisively.

Stahl looked at her oddly. “Better for us that they were.”

“Mayhaps for you,” She scoffed. “I like a challenge.”

Chrom sheathed Falchion and went to the splintered door of the temple. 

“It's alright.” He called inside. “You're safe now, the bandits are slain.” He tried to sound reassuring.

“How can we be sure you ain't one of em'.” A voice rough with fear called back.

Chrom thought for a moment. “I vow on the name of Naga, I will do you no harm.” He swore solemnly.  _ If I am to protect my people, they must believe I will protect them. _

Tentatively the door swung open and a stooped leathery man in green robes stepped forward. For a second he took in the carnage around him and then looked to Chrom.

“Thank you! A thousand thanks Milord. I feared the they would be the death of us. You must be a gift straight from Naga.”

An older women rushed out pushing him out of her way.

“Alm! Alm, where are you?” She cried running forward. “It's alright now, it's over. You can come out!” The man continued babbling thanks and the woman searching as the others inside the temple came forward. Ragged women and children flooded back into the market thanking Chrom, Sully, and Stahl, passionately.

Chrom smiled at the praise. It was good to protect his people, that was the purpose of the Shepherds in the first place.

Frederick stepped by him holding both their horses.

"Milord, you must see these." Frederick said grimly, handing him a slightly bloody stack of papers, Chrom looked them over, they were written in the common script but spelled nothing.

“Are they coded?” Chrom asked, already knowing the answer.

“Almost certainly. But there is more.” He handed Chrom a leather bag. Drawing it open, Chrom saw it was filled with gold coins.

Chrom gritted his teeth. Gold coins and coded documents. Not exactly common fare for bandits and yet they’d found similar in Themis and Southerland. 

_ I suppose that bastard Gangrel is too cheap for real mercenaries. _

“Thank you, Sir Frederick. It seems we’ll have much and more to speak about in Ylisstol.” Chrom said more than aware of the peasants swarming around them.

Stahl and Sully moved beside them, Sully pushing several peasants out of her way. “Did you find anything, Milord?” Asked Stahl. “I did. Nothing that bodes well for us.” Chrom said, watching their expressions turn from triumphant to worried. “We'll speak more of it with Emm.”

Chrom turned his head abruptly as a shrill shriek pierced the air. The old woman was kneeling before a sandy haired boy lying slumped against a stall. “No!” She cried. “No, Naga, please no!” One of the women stepped forward and put her hand on her shoulder. But her wailing continued growing louder.

The old man in green stepped before them again. 

“I'm right sorry about her, Milord, that there was her boy.” He said mournfully before perking up a bit. “Will you stay for a feast, we've got no fare fit for one such as you, but it'll be the best we ave'!” He said energetically.

Chrom smiled tightly, the woman's wails piercing his ears. “I'm honored, but we have to move on.”  _ How can Emm not see? Her peace gives Plegia free reign. We've not declared war but this is no true peace. _

“If we ever come this way again, we'll be sure to seek you out.” Chrom said mounting his horse. Dusk had fallen but they could go further before they had to stop for the night. 

The Shepherds rode out into the woods. _Hopefully if the weather is good and we’re were spared anymore “bandits” we’ll be there within a day. It will be good to see Emm and Lissa again, at least._ Chrom thought with attempted cheer.  

But as darkness fell on the forest Chrom couldn't escape the thought that darkness would fall on all of Ylisse soon enough.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Scorched Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: For fire and burning. So this chapter is obviously a lot longer than the first one, I hope you don't find it tedious and enjoy it. Any constructive criticism is very much appreciated as my children are starving and reviews are the only thing that sustains them.

It was far too hot for piety. Of course it was always hot in Plegia but then Robin wasn’t particularly pious to begin with. However hot it was in Plegia normally, for weeks the heat had tried to outdo itself, and though dusk had fallen it remained sweltering, particularly in Grima’s temple. Cramped on a bench next to others similarly suffering from the heat, she found it hard to concentrate on the words of the High Priest. She was alone in this however.

For many, the comforting darkness of the Grimleal was their only refuge from the burning tensions of Plegia.

With war shimmering like a mirage on the horizon, many had flocked to Grima for comfort. She couldn’t blame them for that, her own mother had been much the same.

Shifting on the bench she made an effort to refocus her attention to the High Priest. “These are troubled times,” He gesticulated wildly to the entrapped crowd.

“Famine, poverty, pain, and,” He paused. “War. These things ail us all. You have come to me in fear and now I tell you, that there is no need for fear.” His voice rose and Robin leaned forward feeling herself drawn in despite herself.

“We Plegians are all the children of Grima, and she will shelter us from the troubles that so plague us. In the days of old, Grima gave us her skull for shelter from the sandstorms, in times far before that, she protected Plegia from destruction by envious Naga, and now even when times seem their worst she grants us her greatest gift of all.” He paused letting his words sink in.

“Grima’s greatest gift to us... is death. Death...is the end of pain, the end of fear and hunger. In death a beggar stands equal to a king and there is no more need for struggle. Death is not to be feared, not to be cowered from, death is Grima’s embrace and so should you embrace her in turn.”  

The eyes of the High Priest seemed to aglow with passion.

“There is no greater honor than to die fighting for Grima to fight for King Gangrel, to fight for Plegia, is to fight for Grima, and death brings an eternity in the realm of Grima!” His voice rose in crescendo and then lowered so the crowd was forced to lean forward straining their ears.

“It is time to fight, for Plegia, for our king, and...for Grima.”

The crowd sat in silence, still staring raptly at the High Priest, when no more words were forthcoming at last the crowd started to disperse.

Robin stood from the bench and joined the throng exiting the temple. Services to Grima were held only at dusk so most of the crowd would be heading back to their homes or their posts, unfortunately for her she had other duties to attend to.

She’d only been back in Grimora, Plegia’s capital, for two days. After a week of travel Henry and Tharja and Gaius had all scampered off to pillage the markets for sweets, hex anyone who looked at them funny, and commune with any crows they happened to attract. All of which Robin found more amenable than her own duty. Still pondering on the words of the High priest’s word she left the dark confines of the temple. _A gift_   Robin thought. _If King Gangrel has his way they’ll be “gifts” for all soon enough. Grima is an ever generous patron._  Robin shook the thought from her mind, what one truly thought was best hidden in Plegia, and it was for the best she was seen as a loyal Grimleal.

Wiping damp hair from her face she started her walk back to the palace. She kept one hand on her tome as she walked. Though the sun had sank below the horizon, it remained sweltering and it seemed tempers had risen with the heat.

Fights had broken out all over the city and seemed, from the palace to the gutters, everyone’s moods had fouled. Passing through one of the cities many slums composed of crumbling sandstone buildings with gaunt faces peeking out, she tossed a couple coins to a few huddled children.

_I suppose I can see Grima’s appeal. At least the infatuation with darkness gives you a little refuge from the heat._

She supposed after weeks on the border between Ylisse and Plegia she must have grown accustomed to the cooler temperature.

Finally she came to the palace with it’s massive sandstone towers barely dwarfing the massive skull of Grima which loomed over the courtyard.

The skull never failed to make Robin feel small but it granted the city and palace some protection from sandstorms. She paused at the gates for the heavily armoured guards.

They were some of the few Plegians who bothered with armour. The sand hindered any hope of mobility and if care wasn’t taken, the sun would boil you alive.

As the Ylisseans had learned during the last war, it was hard to do battle while you were being broiled. Still, if a lance was to challenge her mage’s robes, she knew which one would prove the victor. “No one’s allowed in.” One of them said eyeing her cooly.

_He looks young, first duty trying to prove to his squadmate he has the larger lance._

“I’m sorry for no one then, but I’m Robin, I’m an advisor to King Gangrel.” The guard next to him laughed coarsely.

“Aye, and I’m the consort to Exalt Emmeryn.” The first guard laughed with him.

“I don’t know Jer, I’d let her _advise_ me for the night.” He smirked. _Time to put an end to this._

“If you insist on obstructing me, I’ll see your Captain, and perhaps you can _advise_ each other in the dungeons for the night. King Gangrel does not take kindly to incompetence.” Robin said, her tone cool. The first guardsmen cawed shrilly.

“I do like them feisty, mayhaps we can work something out and I’ll even let you see what’s beneath my armour.”

Robin made no attempt to keep the distaste off her face. She was ordinarly leery about pulling rank but... “Sorry _Sir_ , but I don’t believe I own a spyglass precise enough for what’s beneath your armour to be seen. Now if you would be kind enough to fetch Captain Campari for me, perhaps I’ll ensure you’re merely disciplined instead of discharged.”

The second guard started to speak when a harsh voice made him turn.

“There will be no need for that Robin. Let her in.” Commanded Campari. He was an old man, a veteran of the first war and would doubtlessly serve just as faithfully for the second. He was a hard man, it was true, but to Robin’s eye he fought for Plegia instead of blood, which elevated him among many in Plegia’s ranks.

“But sir-” The first one started. Robin winced almost sympathetic. She had experienced training under Mustafa, he was one of the kindest men to be found in Plegia but even he would not suffer such disobedience without harsh retribution.

Campari gave him a gimlet eyed glare. The guard gulped and at last let Robin through. She breathed a sigh of relief. As she walked forward she heard Campari behind her.

“I will deal with you both later, I suggest you take this night as respite, because when the sun rises you will feel a scorch that rivals it.” She thought she heard one of the guards whimper.

She heard heavy steps on the sand stone behind her and paused to let Campari catch her.

“My apologies Robin, it seems those two have not been properly...drilled. Rest assured it will be properly remedied.” He said, the promise of pain apparent in his voice.

 _Those guards will be in for a rather punishing awakening._ She thought mordantly.

“My thanks Sir, I was concerned I’d be late. I’d hate to disappoint King Gangrel.” Robin said obsequiously.

“Indeed,” Campari said gruffly. “King Gangrel hates to be disappointed. I’ve heard of your skill, it would be shameful to see such potential _wasted_.”

A shudder ran through her.Had it been said by one of the other Commanders she might have thought it a veiled threat. From Campari, it was a simple statement of fact. One misstep could see her bleeding onto the sands. That was the way of Plegia.

Changing the subject she asked, “Tell me Captain, how has the city held in my absence?”

Confusion flickered across his face for a second.

“Ah yes, You’ve been scouting with Captain Mustafa, am I correct? It has changed little in your absence, though the heat has not been kind. The populace inevitably gets restless and turns to crime but my men stamp it out where they can.” He answered bluntly.

They exited the courtyard and entered the Plegia castle passing four more guards who nodded respectfully.

They walked down the halls in silence with no company but flickering torches and purple banners displaying the eye of Grima. To Robin it was only another sign that Plegia was full of eyes, every move scrutinized, every word, analyzed for signs of disloyalty. Robin heard a clamor of voices ahead, and entering to the hallway nearest the throne she ran into half the higher notables of Plegia.

She looked to Campari. “I believe the service of Grima has ended for the night,” he answered in explanation.

_Of course it ran longer, I forgot High Priest Chalard’s tendency towards the long winded._

Robin tried to steel herself, she had little idea what the night would entail, but she doubted she’d enjoy it, she’d often seen Mustafa return from similar meetings with a distaste he couldn’t quite mask.

Forcing her own mask of neutrality she approached. Most of those she saw were familiar. Commander Orton with slicked back hair and a small mustache, mostly known for a love of women, that sometimes crossed over to the unfortunate Ylisseans that fell into his “care”.

There was Vren, with black eyes and an axe with a notch carved for every Ylissean it slew. Commander Arano was almost dashing with long dark hair tied back and sable eyes, but he was cold as a Feroxi winter and haughty as well.  

Vasto was one of younger ones. He came equipped with a quick wit and a quicker axe. Leaning against the wall was Morilda, a dark mage with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes whose hexes had once slain Ylissean warriors before they ever took the field.

She knew them all from sight and reputation, though she had not met them, however it seemed to Robin the company was somewhat lacking. _Perhaps the others have been sent to harrange Ylisse? Or else sent to Feroxi to make an alliance?_

She would have to see if Henri or Gaius had heard anything.

“Ah, Robin, I see you’ve flown back to us?” Said Vasto smirking.

“Rode, more like, though I admit flying would have been quicker.” Robin said. She had entered training with Vasto at the same time, but had served under different generals so she knew little of him.

“Plegia must be a welcome change after mucking about on the borders for so long.” He said.

 _At least Ylisseans will do you the favor of stabbing you in the front. Plegians on the other hand..._ She thought morbidly.

“Indeed, it’s good to be back in the city. I assume you’ve been well.” Robin said politely.   
Vasto smiled broadly. “As it happens you're not the only one with business on the border, I myself happened to find some “bandits” leaping at the chance to contribute to our cause. Poor Ylisse has been beset as of late. It’s an apt strategy. You rid Plegia of it’s scum and weaken Ylisse all at once, two Ylisseans with one arrow, you might say.”

Robin nodded, she’d heard of and seen these “bandits” wrecking havoc all across Ylisse. Still weakened from the first war and with an Exalt as tranquil as Emmeryn was, they had few enough men to spare for defense. Still Robin couldn’t help but hold reservations for the strategy. It seemed to her that men who were bought with coin would sell themselves to Ylisse in half a heart beat, and if captured, they would be singing of all their orders soon enough.

“Very clever Commander Vasto. I hope King Gangrel is as impressed with your cunning as I am.”

“I’m sure you have your own little tricks to contribute. Plegia is dearly in need of fresh blood, that is, if we’re going to spill enough of Ylisse’s.” He laughed at his own witticism and Robin gave the quip a tight smile.

Vasto’s face rapidly soured. “Gangrel’s whore.” He muttered.

From the temple strolled the ever notorious Aversa. With her moon pale hair and raven eyes that perfectly complimented her olive skin, she was doubtlessly a beauty, but Mustafa had cautioned her of the woe that befell the men, and even the few women, that mistook her beauty for goodness, or at the very least, pliability.

She was most often seen at King Gangrel’s side whispering in his ear and pointing at any “traitors” that had gone overlooked.

Coincidently, the downfall of these traitors all happened to elevate Aversa, or else spell the ruin of her opponents. That wasn’t to mention that Aversa had gained King Gangrel’s ear by appealing to a rather different part of his anatomy.

She turned her eyes on Robin.

“Ah, General Campari, Commander Vasto, and...Robin is it? Lovely to see you again Campari, and _so_ lovely to meet you, Robin.” She said. Campari nodded in acknowledgement.

“I’m glad to meet you as well, Milady. I’ve heard much of your talent.” Robin said nervously, Aversa had the means to destroy her, if that was her wont.

“I’ve heard of you as well. Plegia is simply humming with news of a _prodigious_ new tactician. I do hope you meet expectations. It always gladdens me to see the young rise high...though it is so utterly tragic when they fall.” Robin hoped she showed no expression.

“I hope I succeed as well, if only so my skills can serve Plegia and King Gangrel.” Robin responded. Aversa gave her a needle sharp grin.

How many have found themselves impaled on that grin? She wondered idly.

“Don’t worry too much dear, It was Commander Mustafa who promoted you, yes? Such a... _loyal_ man would never turn Plegia wrong. Any of your triumphs will be his as well, as for your failures...well we shan't think about that, shall we?”

 _Is she threatening Mustafa?_ Robin thought incredulously. _Grima be good, I ought to reach over and strangle that harridan. No._ A voice inside her said. _Don’t incite her, flatter her, and let sleeping wyverns lie._ She calmed the rage she felt at a threat to Mustafa. He wouldn’t want her to get herself killed after all. She took a breath.

“Commander Mustfasa is good man and a finer Commander. I can only hope we can both aspire to his height someday.” She said placidly.

Aversa’s grin suddenly looked a bit forced. “Indeed? I suppose as a wyvern knight I’ve already soared high above him.” She tittered once again.

Aversa looked to the imposing ebony and iron doors that towered over them all.

“We must be going. King Gangrel has a certain loathing for being kept waiting.” She gestured for the two guards near the door and there was sharp shriek as they wrenched them open. “I do hope you enjoy your first meeting Robin. I know I shall.”

She smiled at Vasto before strutting into the throne room.

 _Here goes nothing._ She thought hopefully.

As the massive doors opened Robin followed Aversa inside trailed by the other commanders as well as King Gangrel’s favorites and other notables of Plegia.

It had once been a place for the high priests of Grima who had once ruled Plegia, but the war had brought them low indeed. In the chaos that followed the “peace” King Gangrel had laid them lower still and taken their places.

Robin had seen most of the castle and King Gangrel himself at a distance, but never the throne room.

She looked in awe. It was large, with vaulted ceilings held up by marble pillars, and a rich purple carpet that stretched to an imperious dark throne that sat in the middle of the wall farthest from the door. It sat elevated on a platform and was meant to loom over everything else in the room.

The walls were decorated in more finely made Grimleal banners, to watch over the king, perhaps.

King Gangrel lounged on the throne his hand against his head and a lazy smirk on his face. His slim golden crown was perched atop amber hair and he wore a yellow cloak with a sable trim. To Robin he appeared almost bored.

She, along with the commanders, took their places along the walls and looked at him, awaiting his words.

“Ah, here stand, my most dear and loyal friends and comrades, my ever faithful allies, and my most devoted servants, those who share the same noble goal, as I, I am sure.” King Gangrel began, staring down at all them with amber colored eyes.

“You are here to help me, in a most virtuous task, one that should have been undertaken years ago,” He smiled and then his voice rose suddenly in a shout. “To annihilate the filthy Ylissiens, the dogs, the abominations that have the...the _audacity_ to call themselves men! They are no men, but wretched beasts, whose existence is only to mock us!”

Robin found herself nervously chewing her lip and stopped as soon as she realized it. King Gangrel’s fury was renowned but this was her first time witnessing it.

“I know that you all support my noble goal, to burn that...that haven of wretches and beasts to the _ground_! To sow their fields with the blood and bones of their children! To hang their whore of an Exalt from Grima’s maw!” He slammed his fist on the throne. The commanders watched with Robin mute, occasionally nodding agreement.

Aversa approached his throne languidly. “Of course, your Grace, the _gruesome_ death of Ylisse is the dearest wish of every true Plegian.” She simpered.

The rest of the court voiced their support, Robin found her voice among them.

“Ah, Aversa, it is always lovely to hear my dutiful hounds bark on cue.” King Gangrel said, a smile crawling cross his face. A shiver ran down Robin’s back. His was a smile she had seen on the face of Ylisseans and Plegians alike with an enemy at their mercy. It promised cruelty.

“Now of course, I wish to hear my retainers tell me of their advancements towards my most illustrious cause.” He commanded, glancing down at them in expectancy.

“After all, if one of you were to refuse, they might prove themselves to be disloyal or even a Ylissien spy. And we all know what happens to Ylissien spies. Don't we?” King Gangrel posited. “We send them to their Naga screaming, in as many bloody pieces as possible!”

He began laughing raucously at his own joke, Aversa laughed with him as did most of the court.

“And now, tell me of your devotion and your plans and schemes to bring Ylisse to her knees, to leave Ylissean maidens weeping and Ylissean men choking on their blood.” Gangrel commanded leering down at his consul.

“If you don't mind me taking the initiative, your Grace?” Aversa asked.

“Who else, but my dearest Aversa?”

"I was thinking Your Grace, Ylisse has such a surplus of wretched unfortunate orphans lacking a mother’s love and guidance, it’s all terribly tragic. But then I recalled that Grima does so love children. I was thinking that perhaps they would make a lovely offering for Grima. Although the poor Exalt has such a...soft heart, I know the death of the poor innocent things might send her into despair.” Aversa said grinning like a street cat with a rat trapped between it’s paws.

Gangrel broke out into raucous laughter and the court followed his lead. “Ah, Aversa, you have a mind as lovely as the rest of you. I can just see the bleeding heart Exalt weeping salty, salty tears over the poor dead pups." Gangrel leered at Aversa’s chest and Robin realized the reason Aversa had forgone a breast plate.

Aversa nearly purred, enjoying the obvious satisfaction Gangrel took from the idea.

Robin glared at the floor. She’d lived during the first war. She’d seen what Ylisseans had done to children. But to take glee in the death of children was nothing she could contemplate without losing her stomach. She bit her lip and wished she could blast Aversa where he stood.

_Calm yourself Robin, nothing good comes of anger, not now anyways._

“Now I hear we have a new arrival in our...fair and valiant court, step forth, and show me why Mustafa pulled you from the mud. I _do_ hope you don’t prove to be another disappointment. We always have room for more loyal soldiers,” His smile grew a bit wider. “And more room on the pyres for disloyal ones.”

Robin stood stunned for a moment before she registered that she was the one of which he spoke.

She stepped forward nervously and knelt before the throne. The eyes of the court and tapestries both watched her.

“Well? Get on with it.” King Gangrel said impatiently. Her mouth felt dry as bone. “Your Grace, for the past weeks I’ve been scouting at the Border pass,” For a second she choked. Her mind deserting her.  Then she remembered Mustafa who had believed in her, and Henry and Tharja whose fates depended on her. She clenched her fist and gathered her thoughts.

“The Pegasus Knights are Ylisse’s scouts, they keep them fresh in supplies and act as rescuers on occasion, b...But most importantly they serve as messengers.if we could shoot them down and intercept their messages and then perhaps even substitute false ones in their place, we could gain a great advantage over Ylisse.” Robin finished.

Perhaps this would stray everyone’s minds from the orphanages.

King Gangrel paused and Robin could feel his gaze dissecting her. “Hmm, perhaps a bit dull, but functional enough. I dearly hope your next idea will be more...amusing. But for now, it will have to do.” King Gangrel said finally turning his gaze from her.

She let out a breath, for now she was safe. Shakily she walked back to her place.

“Now onto my _loyal_ commander Vasto.” King Gangrel said. Vasto knelt before the throne smirking. He was confident to be sure. Robin looked at King Gangrel’s face and remembered his grin when he spoke of the death of Ylisse, something tightened in Robin’s stomach.

“I’m yours to command, Milord.”

“Are you?” King Gangrel mouth widened into what might’ve been a smile, to Robin it looked like a snarl. His yellowed teeth were bared and his eyes gleamed.

“I live to serve Milord.” Vasto seemed unfazed by King Gangrel’s change.

 _Perhaps I am riled about nothing, perhaps Aversa is the deadliest viper in this nest._ Robin thought. _Vasto has been at court far longer, than I._ She reassured herself.

“And you would call yourself a loyal Plegian, I assume?” King Gangrel’s eyes did not leave Vasto’s for even a second.

“Plegian bred and born and to the bone, Milord.” A hint of unease had crept into Vasto’s voice.

“I see,” King Gangrel said. “You stood in this hall and told me of your _plan_ to harangue Ylisse with the help the gutter born brigands, _now_ tell me, why do I hear your plans have fallen into the hands of the Ylisse’s _princling_? The last word was a hiss.

Vasto flinched.

Robin’s breath caught.

“Please Your Grace, I can explain.” Vasto said desperation evident in his voice.

“ _Silence_!..Aversa tell me, did I give him leave to speak?” Interrupted King Gangrel.

“No Your Grace, _Commander_ Vasto disobeyed you and spoke out of turn.” She tutted as if Vasto was a disobedient child.

“Indeed. It seems you show your disobedience not only outside of my hall but within as well.” King Gangrel said stroking his chin as if deep in thought. “What reason would a Plegian have to allow such plans to fall into the hands of the _Ylisseans_?”

Vasto’s face had turned the colour of curdled milk. “Milord...I-”

“Did I not ask for _silence_?” Commanded Gangrel King his snarl had been replaced with a mask of malice.

“No, a Plegian would have no reason to allow Ylissean to discover them, unless they were a _spy_ . A _defector_! You have betrayed me and Plegia for the wretched dogs of Ylisse!” Bellowed King Gangrel saliva flying out of his mouth.

“ _No!_ , I...I...I'm not...I haven’t-” Vasto didn't finish his explanation, instead desperation writ on his face, he dashed for the doors.

Robin looked down to the violet carpet not wanting to see what came next. She heard heavy foot falls and then Vasto's cry of pain and the several blows and cries that followed it.

When she looked back up, two burly guards were dragging him before King Gangrel's throne. One of them fixed him into iron shackles, ignoring his weak struggles. The court was deathly silent. The only sound was Vasto's pleas. He was repeating the word ‘please’ over and over.

“Now what is to be the fate of traitors?” King Gangrel asked, his voice now perfectly calm.

“P...please Grima, anyone have mercy. Pleas-”  Vasto begged before one of the guards back handed him with a gauntleted hand. His whimper echoed through the court.

“Several times now I have asked for silence, have I not? It seems this traitor even now seeks to shirk my orders. He must be taught a lesson mustn't he?”

Vasto started to sob and Robin turned her eyes to King Gangrel.  
The court assented and Robin joined them.

King Gangrel turned to Aversa. “Aversa my sweet, I believe I have a task for you.” King Gangrel's words were coated in honey.

“Of course Milord, anything to serve.” Aversa said her eyes unfeeling chips of onyx.

The court was deathly silent as they conversed.

“I see some of my _Plegians_ need a stern reminder of what treachery gets you.” His snarl returned.

 _Pain, there will be pain soon._ She predicted. She looked down to Vasto again his eyes were darting rapidly from side to side like a frightened stallion’s.

_If he’s seeking pity he will find none. If we show pity it will be us next._

“Now Aversa, why don’t you show him the mercy of traitors.”

“No! Please, I’m no traitor, Please!” Vasto said, he was sobbing hard enough that his body trembled, rattling his shackles. His pleas had turned shrill and his voice shook with every call for mercy.

Aversa only smiled before drawing her Elfire tome and setting him alight.

It took only a second to catch, but when it did Vasto let out a scream. Not merely a scream of pain or rage but of pure unfiltered agony. Robin closed her eyes unable to watch. She heard King Gangrel laugh uproariously, Aversa’s and several other voices joined him.

She remembered what her mother had told her once: “Go away inside. Don’t see, don’t hear, keep blank.” She tried not to remember another burning, another’s screams.

For a second she was able to lose herself in the memories of her mother and her walking across Plegia in better days, preaching of Grima, sitting by the campfire with Tharja and Henri, nights spent dancing in the desert storms and swimming in cool oases. She felt a harsh grip on her arm.

“You must look. The fate of traitors is meant as a lesson.” It was Campari’s voice.

Robin forced her eyes open.

Vasto was aflame. His armour glowing red hot and he rolled and writhed shrieking on the carpet trying in vain to quench the flames and his hair...

Robin felt her stomach nearly revolt as the scent of burnt hair reached her.

_Not again, please not again._

Vasto’s agonized screams grew louder and she thought she heard him call for his mother. Robin remembered vaguely Vasto eagerly awaiting letters from his mum during training. He’d spoken once of sending half his wages back to her.

The flames continued but the screams were dying down. His armour had melted leaving dripping molten steel in place of his chainmail. Robin bit her lip harder.

King Gangrel watched hungrily from the throne. His eyes were as wild as the fire and his grin was wide enough to allow Robin to count his teeth. The screams stopped.

Robin looked at the charred thing sprawled on the carpet. He'd stopped screaming at last. His eyes had changed to pools of pus. His hair was gone and his skin had sloughed off to the skull beneath. The carpet was singed black around him and the air smelled vaguely like...like burnt pork. Acrid bile rose in Robin’s throat.

King Gangrel stepped before the silent court. “Let that be a reminder about the price of disloyalty.” Most of the court nodded fearfully or else in agreement. “You may be my loyal man, or you may be a dead man, choose wisely.”  
He let his message seep in.

“Now Commander Orton, your progress?”  
He stepped forward avoiding glancing at what was once Vasto. Whatever he said Robin didn’t hear. She tasted blood on her lip and Orton sounded as if he was speaking from underwater.

A few more of the commanders came and went in a blur, and when the others began walking out, she felt a push from behind her.

Robin walked from the room numbly.

She ignored the others japing about burnt meat or else saying nothing at all.

She walked from the hallway turning in shock as something gripped her arm. “Do you see now, Robin? We all have our choices to make...only some are better than others. Choose the right side.” Robin nodded blankly. “Yes...of course.” She said barely thinking. She pulled away, the voice sounded like Aversa’s.

She rushed from the palace not seeing seeing any of her surroundings. Stumbling, she fell to her knees spitting bile onto the sand. In her mind Vasto’s screams echoed and mingled with ones from long ago.

_Grima please, I can’t let that be my fate, not mine. It would take so little for Tharja, Henry, Gaius, even Mustafa to burn. A single misstep and I’ll be the next trapped in Grima’s fiery embrace._

Clumsily she pulled herself to her feet and staggered to the sandstone barracks. Exhausted, she barely noticed a hand on her shoulder pulling her to her bunk.

As she lay there, Vasto’s screams rang in her ears and his face floated before her eyes, still twisted in agony. “Why?” His voice seemed to plead. “Why didn’t you help me?” Because this is Plegia she wanted to say. Because if I had helped I would have burned alongside you. The screaming refused to stop. She tried in vain to shut it out. Sluggishly one thought pierced the memories. _If Ylisse does not burn, then King Gangrel will ensure Plegia does._ She thought before falling into an uneasy sleep.

  
  
  
  



	3. Grim Tidings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first two chapters have been updated and actually formatted. Go me. Hopefully no one finds this chapter boring.  
> Constructive and non constructive criticism is much appreciated.

As he rode into Ylisstol Chrom was shocked at how little it changed. Considering how bold the brigands had grown, Chrom was only grateful they lacked the courage to move on the Ylisstol.

It was late afternoon and the market was bustling. The crowd nevertheless parted before him and his routine. Whether they knew who he was or not his armour and sword made for an intimidating figure.

“Milord.” Frederick rode up beside him.

“Yes Frederick?” He asked, the Shepherds had ridden in silence for most of the way back. The attack but more importantly it’s implications had dampened the usual banter that traveled with them.

“I don’t believe it’s prudent for you to ride ahead Milord.” Frederick said.

“What, you think a Plegian is going to leap out of a cabbage cart?” Chrom asked trying to laugh it off.

“If they are growing bold enough to attack a day from the Ylisstol, then they are certainly bold enough to try for the capitol itself.”

“A small band of brigands might wreck havoc on a village defended by farmers and milkmaids but Ylisstol has nearly all the might of Ylisse ensieged here. Besides that _is_ why we have Sir Frederick the wary, isn’t it?” Chrom said hoping Frederick would drop the topic. There would be plenty of discussion of Plegia when they reached the castle.

“Even I can only do so much Milord.” Frederick said solemnly.

Chrom scoffed. “Don't worry too much Frederick, I’ll have you and the Shepherds tailing me at all moments, I don’t doubt. And they aren’t all as useless as Vaike.”

“I have no doubts about our prowess in the face of an open assault, but Plegians are known cowards and the might of the Shepherds will not save you from a poisoned goblet or a dagger in the dark.”

Chrom tightened his hands on his horse’s reins. He’d been in enough skirmishes to be familiar with the feeling of danger, but the idea of an enemy he couldn’t fight was disquieting.

He put it out of his mind and they rode in silence their horses clattering on the cobblestone street and the chatter of the market goers being the only sounds.

The castle approached quickly as familiar to Chrom as his Falchion. It stood pale and proud of Ylisstol reminding any who dwelt there of their duty to their people. Their green banners flew boldly over the castle and Chrom promised himself he’d never live to see Plegia’s fly in their stead.

He considered the grim news he was bringing back, it would give Emm a heavy heart to know of Plegia’s actions and the casualties they had taken. _Perhaps,_ he thought uncharitably, _it might convince her to finally take some damn action._ He tried to shake the thought from his mind.

She’d been devoted to the peace effort for years despite the disapproval of the council, the nobles, and sometimes Chrom himself. All criticism she took calmly and tactfully though her opinion was yet to be swayed. He admired it and loathed it as well. If Emm had come across a band of brigands he had no doubt she would swoop in attempting to reason with them and get herself killed or worse.

Either way he hated bringing her such grim news.

The guards at the austere castle gate recognized him immediately despite all the grime and quickly escorted them inside.

He dismounted walking his horse to the stables. “Damn good to be home, isn’t it Captain?” Asked Sully.

“Quite. Home among family, friends, and Vaike, I suppose.” He turned to Stahl and Sully. “You’re dismissed for now, I imagine Frederick and I are more than enough to deliver sour news.” Chrom said. Sully nodded vigorously. “Aye, Captain.” She grabbed Stahl by the arm. “Off the training yard, it’s been far too long since I’ve thoroughly destroyed you.”

“But I haven’t even eaten yet.” Stahl’s pleas fell on deaf ears as she dragged him off.

“We should join them later.” Chrom said than winced. “Perhaps even bring a healer for Stahl.” He yearned to go to the training yard and fight till all thoughts of Plegia left him. But he had his duty.

He left his mare behind with a pat and a well deserved carrot, and walked briskly through the well groomed courtyard; the guards nodded as he went by.

At last he came to the grand wooden door the guards obligingly pulled them open as they came into sight.

Stepping into the castle he took stock of the familiar pillars reaching for the ceiling, the marble floors, and the watchful guards almost as still as the pillars. Lastly the dark blue tapestries with the brand of the exalt proudly displayed. The same brand that marked his arm, a constant reminder of his duty.

Frederick tapped him on the shoulder. “Come along Milord, you oughtn’t keep the Exalt waiting.”

“Of course, but I’d like to see Lissa first. I’m sure she’s been on pins and needles.” _And we all know how adapt Lissa is with needles._  Frederick nodded. “I imagine at this hour she’s at tea with the other ladies.”

 _I’m certain she’ll be glad for a rescue than._  Unlike Emm, Lissa had never quite taken to ladylike behaviour and watching her struggle always made Chrom rejoice he’d been born a man. He much preferred swordplay to needlework. They walked through the grand hall and turned off into a hallway leading to the more private chambers.

Ahead Chrom heard feminine voices tittering and discoursing. The wooden door was left half ajar and several dress clad ladies sat embroidering and sipping at tea, his sister sat among them looking distinctly bored.

“I’ve heard that Themis is quite beset by brigands.” Said a sleight girl with bouncing red curls Chrom knew as Lynette Manster. He heard a scoff.

“Heard from whom? Maribelle barely knows you exist and I rather doubt Duke Themis has been sending you letters of strategy.” Said Roslin Eastwent, Chrom remembered only her foxish face and that she towered over most of the other girls. _Was she the one Emm told to tutor Lissa in courtesy?_ If so he pitied Lissa.

Lynette blushed. “Not from Lady Maribelle or Duke Themis, my cousin Andra is a pegasus knight. She was in Themis a fortnight ago. She said brigands have been attacking their  villages. It sounds utterly dreadful.”

Roslin scoffed. “When we’re speaking of Plegians the word dreadful usually comes along as matter of fact.”

Lissa leaned forward. “How do you know the brigands are Plegians? Themis is pretty far into Ylisse, Chrom said they usually stick to the border.” She said.

“Please Milady, we both know that Plegians will go through no small amount of pain if they can pain Ylisse more.”   
“I suppose.” Lynette said.

Lissa’s face was troubled. “I hope Maribelle’s alright, watching her people be hurt must be awful for her.”

“I’m certain she’ll be fine.” Said Corliss a willowy blonde longueing next to Roslin. “She’ll be safe in her father’s estate, the brigands will never get near her.”

“I know but-” Lissa’s face abruptly lightened. “Chrom!” She cried spotting him. She leapt from her chair and into his arms.

Chrom caught her and she clutched him tight. “I missed you so much!” She said sincerely.

He smiled. “I’m glad to see you too sis, I’ve not had to worry about your tricks for at least a month. I’ve fallen out of the practice of checking for toads in my boots.” Chrom said smiling despite the grim duty that soon awaited him.

“I’ll have to fix that soon. I hope my ladies don’t mind a picnic by the creek.” Lissa pulled back from him and smacked him hard on the arm.

Chrom rubbed his arm. “What was that for?”

Lissa’s lips scrunched as they always did when she was angered. “You were two days late. We thought you might have been...you worried us!” She said aggravated.

“You needn’t worry so much. All we faced were a few bandits with swords that were more rust than steel and axes that a wood cutter would spurn. Besides I had Frederick behind me.” He gestured behind him.

He nodded. “I  would not let Milord come to harm.”

“Still, next time will you take me with you? Please, I know I can be a Shepherd!” She intoned.

Roslin had risen from her seat and placed her hand on Lissa’s shoulder.

“Please Milady you musn’t irritate Milord with silly questions like those. A battlefield is no place for a lady.”

Lissa huffed. “And what of Sully? Last I saw she does more battle than flowerpicking.”

Roslin’s pursed her lips. “ _Lady_ Sully is hardly a woman to emulate Milady.”  
Chrom stepped forward. “Sully is a valiant knight and my company would not be complete without her.” He said coolly.   
Roslin flushed a deep red. “I...I beg pardon Milord. I never meant to cast aspersions Lady Sully’s bravery only that her chosen past times are hardly appropriate for a woman of her stature.”

Chrom’s voice was tight. “I believe I know what you meant,” he took Lissa’s arm.

“Come along, I believe Emm, will probably have a scolding to give me as well.” He strolled down the hall.

Lissa let out a breath. “Thank Naga. You see now why I’d rather be a Shepherd.”  
_However sharp Lady Roslin’s tongue is, the brigand’s sworders are sharper._

“You’re safer here Lissa. If times we’re more peaceful I’d consider it, but as things are...it’s best you stay in the castle.”

Lissa looked at the ground and Chrom felt a pang of guilt. He remembered how much he’d yearned for adventure as a boy. Before he could say anything Frederick spoke up.

“He’s correct Milady. These are troubled times and your and Exalt Emmeryn’s safety are paramount.”

Lissa agreed glumly. “Alright.”

At last they came to Emmeryn’s chambers. Two women stood before the door. Emm’s retainer Phila, and one of her pegasus knights.

“Prince Chrom, Lady Emmeryn will be overjoyed to see you.” Said Caeda, a stocky girl with dark braided hair.

“Indeed, Milady has been most concerned for you.” Said Phila sternly.  
_Emm will have far more to worry about in a second._

Caeda knocked on the door.

“Exalt Emmeryn, Prince Chrom has returned.” The door opened and Emm emerged smiling radiantly. She embraced Chrom.

“Thank Naga you’ve returned to us.” She said.

“You ought to thank Frederick as well.” Chrom said returning her embrace. After a moment Chrom pulled back frowning. She looked exhausted with bags deep set under her eyes. What he brought would only add to her burden.

“I’m afraid I have little in the way of good news.” He said gravely.

Emm nodded. “I expected as much. We shall talk in my room.”

Phila,  Frederick, and Lissa entered after them. He’d have to inform the council later, but it was for the best that Emm knew first.

Her room was simple by royalty's standard, green silk tapestries and carpets, an overstuffed four poster bed, and a carefully carved desk well stocked in documents and ink.The flickering candles gave the room an inviting glow. Emm gestured Chrom to the desk chair.

“You journey must have been quite exhausting.” Chrom sank gratefully onto the chair.

“Now she said staring somberly at him. “What news have you brought?”

“I settled the dispute between Duke Themis and Duke Southerland easily enough, a swift look at the ravaged lands revealed neither mercenaries nor knights of Southerland or Themis. They were brigands, Emm, well funded and with Plegian accents. They’re getting bolder as well, far bolder. They’ve gone as far as South Town and I very much doubt we’ve seen the last of their number. They had these as well.” He pulled the coded documents from his bag and handed them to Emm.

“I see, this is...ill news indeed.” Her face was grave as she handed the documents to Phila.

“Can you make anything of these?” She asked.

Phila held the parment to the light and looked at it intently before nodding slowly.

“Aye, I believe I saw something like this in the last war. It is an arcane language used by an ancient order of Grima. I know a mage or two who could discern this for us.”

“Thank you Phila. We would be most grateful.”

Chrom shifted in his seat. “What should we do Emm? We both know where these bandits came from, we know who bid them to attack Ylisse.” Chrom demanded.

“Yes...I know many of the council see me as naive for treasuring peace, but I am not ignorant of the ways of war. I’ve begged a parley of King Gangrel for years, he's never granted me a response.”

_Do dead villagers and charred towns not deliver a clear enough message?_

Chrom grit his teeth. “He’s no king. He’s a baseborn thief who slaughtered his way out of the gutters, everyone knows that.”

Something twitched on Emm’s face. “Whatever his former station he holds Plegia now and any hope of peace will have to involve him as well.”

Chrom stood. “Damn it Emm, Gangrel won’t go for peace. He’s been sending brigands to our lands to slay our people and if he had his way he’d slay all of us. We can’t let him slaughter us in the name of peace!”

“With all due respect your Grace, Prince Chrom is correct. I see no course for peace where King Gangrel lives. His hatred for Ylisse is well known, and has only festered worse over the years. The longer we wait to go to war the more advantage they will have of us.” Phila agreed.

Emm closed her eyes. “To break a peace of fifteen years, is not something I will do swiftly. If war is to be made, I would prefer it to be only after every other route has failed. During the last war I watched our country become a halidom of widows and orphans. This next war will mean more Ylisseans bleeding their last into Plegia’s sands, it will mean watching our fields sowed with bones and carrion instead of crops and life, and it will mean starvation, death, and woe.” Emm said gravely pressing her hands to her heart.

“Emm...our people are dying already,” he remembered South Town and a woman shouting despairingly at her murdered son. He remembered burned farmsteads and weeping peasants.

“King Gangrel won’t stop until he gets his war, he’ll send brigands to burn our fields and slaughter more of our people until we have no choice but to fight.”  
Frederick stepped forward. “I profess I do not know what you will find in those orders, but were I a betting man I would bet that we find orders and payments to ravage Ylisse’s towns and fields, and that we will find more of the same on other such brigands.” He said soberly.

“The council has said as much several times. You cannot make peace with a lion anymore than you can make peace with King Gangrel. He is a beast in human skin, Your Grace. If beasts are not felled they will devour you in turn.” Phila assented.

“A beast King Gangrel may be, but he is a beast of war’s creation. All wars beget such beasts. Who's to say that another will not create a hundred more King Gangrels.” Emm asked, her eyes almost glistening in the candle light.

Chrom shook his head. “It’s not a hundred Gangrels that trouble us, only the one. He will never content himself with peace Emm, it’s like Phila said, a lion and a lamb will not live in harmonious peace.”

“I don’t know so much as Chrom and Phila, but we need to protect our people Emm, it’s what the exalt does. The first exalt slew Grima to protect Ylisse, we still have to protect it now! ” Lissa said passionately.

Emm stared at them all all in turn. “Perhaps...you are right. Even so I will have to sleep on this. Give me time to weigh this and bring it to the council. As I have said the end of peace is not a decision to make lightly.”

Phila stepped forward. “At least allow me to allow preparations your Grace, Plegia’s army is far more formidable and they are poised for battle. It would be most advantageous to call our banners, assemble a fighting force, and send envoys to Feroxi and Valm and it’s nations.”  
Emm agreed ponderously. “As you will.”

“I think we should speak more of protection for you and Lissa, South Town is only a days ride from away, if they’ve gone that far, they’ll be trying for Ylisstol soon enough. They wouldn’t even need to attack the city head on, only slip a few men over the wall or through the gates and into the palace. It would destroy Ylisse and I if anything happened to you or Lissa.” Chrom said earnestly.

“I doubt anyone’s going to attack me Chrom, I’m third in line for the title of the exalt, and I’m not even a warrior like you.” Lissa snorted.  
“It is true you are neither the exalt nor a warrior Milady, but you are still a princess and sister to both the prince and the exalt of Ylisstol. There are many Plegians who would spill your blood if given the chance.” Frederick turned to Emm.

“I agree with Milord. Protection for you and Milady is paramount. There is no telling the schemes these Plegians may hatch.” Phila said gravely.  
Emm, nodded once again looking tired. “Very well, I will appoint more guards to both Lissa and I.”   
Lissa huffed and Emm put a hand on her shoulder.

“Lissa it would grieve Chrom and I terribly if anything were to happen to you, I pray it will only be a precaution but if not I would see you well protected.” Emm reassured.

“Alright, I suppose I can invite a few guards to tea with me.” She giggled.

“I think it is time we all got some rest, you must be wearied after your journey. Tomorrow I may have more answers for you on the war, and it’s best we are all well rested for whatever is to come.” Emm said.

Chrom reluctantly agreed. He doubted he would find sleep easy with doubts and worries darting through his mind, but a drowsy swordsman was hardly something to aspire to be.

The door slammed open and Chrom loosened his sword as a girl with flaming red hair dashed in.

“Cordelia?!” Phila cried for once as nonplussed as the rest of them.

“Milady, I bring grave news!” Cordelia was sweating, she’d evidently sprinted through the castle.

“Well?” Asked Phila sternly after she had stopped and Chrom had sheathed his sword.

Cordelia took a breath. “The Duchess of Themis has been abducted by Plegia! They’re demanding a parely at the border pass with the exalt in three days or else…” Cordelia paused panting.

“Or else what?” Chrom’s teeth were gritted tight.  
“Or...they plan to send her back her head in pieces.” She handed them a piece of parchment.

Emm quickly read the letter, and a deep frown crossed her face. “I see, then we will be paryling far quicker than I planned.”

Lissa went pale. “T...that’s Maribelle. They can’t of hurt Maribelle, Chrom please, if they kill Maribelle-” He put his arm around her and she trailed off.

‘Don’t worry Lissa, we’ll see her safely back. No harm will come to Maribelle.”

“Promise?” She asked plaintively.

“Of course, you have my word.” He swore.

Lissa smiled tearfully. “Okay Chrom, but I’ll hold you to your word.”

Chrom gave her a tight smile. “I’d expect nothing less.”

 _I only wish I could believe myself as well. Poor Maribelle is at the mercy of Lord Gangrel, a man without mercy._ But he could allow Lissa a few days of hope.

They walked to the courtyard to find Frederick waiting with the Shepherds and Phila with a small escourt of pegasus knights and cavaliers. “We must be off at once, the border is a three day ride.” Phila said.

Frederick stepped forward with two horses.

“Indeed Phila. Naga be willing we’ll make it in time.” Emm mounted her horse along with Chrom.

They rode off into the night.

Chrom had never been adapt at reading the stars, anything his tutor had once said about constellations, the changing of the stars from one season to the next had gone in one ear and out the other, but as he rode he swore he could read war in the stars above.

  



	4. Sun and Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, for a while it's a been a one two punch of school and depression.  
> I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

“What’re the chances we leave the border without a war?” Gaius asked leaning leisurely against a bolder enjoying a rather squashed looking pastry.   
“Smaller than a grain of sand.” Tharja said gloomily. 

Henri’s grin stretched across his face at the word blood.   
“Should be fun! Well get to fight a whole army!” Henri said cheerfully.

Robin poked at the campfire. She and Henri were the only ones assigned to watch duty, but where she went Tharja followed, and Gaius was reluctant to stay near the camp in general.    
“What do you think Feathers? You’re the prodigious tactician, after all.”    
She watched a log fall into the embers and tried to force Vasto from her mind. 

“I think that whatever becomes of the hostage will spur Ylisse into war. She’s fortunate she was left at the border, but her reprieve will end when King Gangrel and Aversa arrive. If we’re fortunate either the prince or the exalt will be slain at the border and this war will end within the year.” She spoke softly, ordinarly she wouldn’t have said it at all. 

But they were alone several miles from the main camp, and she trusted Henri, Tharja, and Gaius as much as she could anyone in Plegia. As vicious, bloodthirsty, and kniving as they could be, they were loyal to her. To a point. 

“D’you think they’ll cut her up? Maybe they’ll chop off her head or feed her to the wyverns. Ohh, or they could cut her heart out, like the Grimleal used to do! I hope they let me watch.” Henri said tracing patterns into the sand. 

“She was brave at least, the hostage, I mean. Faced down brigands with six men and a parasol, I heard.” Gaius said.   
“And got those men slayed, and herself as well, most like. Sometimes...it’s best for bravery to yield to caution.” Robin responded. 

_ The corpses of the valiant littered the sands in the last war, the cowards ran and lived to see this one.  _

“I know my way around Themis, pretty well.” Gaius said casually. “That’s who she is, the duchess of Themis. I snuck into her father’s treasury once and got myself arrested. Caught sight of her at my trial. Pretty lass, but she had that look on her face, all nobles have it. The one that says you’re lower than dirt.”

Robin nodded, she had caught sight of the prison tattoo on his arm once, in an incident involving a mistaken bath tent, that still made her blush. “I’m surprised you escaped the noose, from what I’ve heard Ylissean nobles guard their treasury like a lioness guards her cubs.”

“Perhaps they couldn’t bear to remove such a handsome visage from the world. Or perhaps it was just luck. I used to have a fair bit, until I crossed you, I suppose.” He grinned wryly.

Robin smiled for a second. She remembered meeting Gaius years ago. She’d been with Mustfasa then, and a band of mercenaries had been hired to show them the area. 

Most of them had been Feroxi, and Gaius had successfully kept his origin hidden, until he came to Mustafa with his leader’s plans to turn on them, and with that little confession came the slip of an accent. 

What had motivated his turn had been a mystery, until after the battle when Robin had found that the leader had caught Gaius stealing from the company. 

Likely he would have slipped back into sugar coated obscurity but a box of sugared persimmons and a few death threats persuaded him to join her motley band. With the assistance of looted papers claiming he was a Valmese mercenary they’d faced little trouble. Robin hoped it remained that way, if it was found that Gaius was Ylissean and Robin had harbored him they would both meet the noose. Or worse. But his knowledge of Ylisse was invaluable and he had no small talent for ferreting out information in other fields as well.

Robin wasn’t fool enough to believe that it was loyalty and fondness for her that kept him silent and relatively obedient. His name and the brand on his arm was known in Ylisse. His little mishap with the mercenary band in Feroxi had endeared him to few, and to start over in Cho’sin or Valm, was no mean task. Thus far half of Robin’s wages had been enough for him.

“Perhaps my luck simply overwhelmed yours.” Robin said lightly. Despite their banter, the war that would come in morning hung over their camp like a pallor. 

They all sat in silence for a moment.    
“I hope the battle is real bloody. The crows are hungry.” Henri said.

_ Not to worry Henri. The crows will be fed all across the continents soon.  _ Robin thought dolefully.

“We’ll be at the border by tomorrow. King Gangrel didn’t drag a small army to the border for peaceful parly.” Tharja paused then smiled. “It’ll be a good opportunity to try my curses, there are a few I’ve been just yearning to try. I found a rather delightful one that sets blood to boiling.” Her eyes glittered darkly by the fire’s light.

“Bet I can kill more than you!” Henri exclaimed excitedly. 

Tharja glared at him balefully. “I doubt that very much. For all of your...enthusiasm my skill is far more vast. 

“We’ll see. Hopefully I’ll get a  _ head  _ start or a  _ leg  _ up!”  Henri laughed uproariously.

“I’d prefer you two focus on keeping your selves alive.” Robin rebuked.  _ They can’t help it. The first war warped them, and the dark magic has only twisted them further. They are what they’ve been made. _

Tharja smiled. “Your concern touches my heart. Should I bring you one of their’s?” She asked.

“Take their lives, leave their hearts. That does include other limbs as well.” She addressed to Henri.

His face settled into a pout. “But what if I want a keepsake?” He asked. 

“Keep the memories.” Robin commanded.

Gaius had finished his pastry and was cleaning his sword with a placid look on his face. She would have to talk to him about how he felt about a war with his countrymen. Gaius was no patriot, but to slaughter your own kind couldn’t be easy for anyone.

“It’s about time we get some rest. Orton’s men are due to take over. It’s best we’re on our toes no matter what comes.” Robin said standing up. “Gaius, will you walk me to the tents?” She asked.

“I could never refuse a lady, not even you Feathers.” Gaius said, pushing himself up.

Robin huffed in mock offense. “Well, you’re hardly a knight. They’d never pull you away from the castle’s kitchens and you’d sooner rob a dragon then slay it.” 

Gaius shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Good night Robin! Don’t let the nightmares bite.” Henri chirped.   
“Indeed. Sleep well Robin, I know I shall.” Tharja and Henri headed off to their own tents. 

Gaius and she walked through a patchy forest of poplars. The closer to the border they’d ridden the more vegetation they found. Albeit sparsely gathered and yellowed.

A slim crescent moon shone above doing little to light their way.

“My mother used to call that a sickle moon, she always said the night is darkest at it’s rise. Under a sickle moon deception comes more easily than truth, and blood is spilled.” Robin said unbidden. She didn’t quite know why, usually she was loath to speak of her mother.

“I knew a thief once who put all his stock in the stars and moon. Wouldn’t rob unless the moon was waning and the serpent was in season. One night when all the stars had aligned to his liking and he thought the moon smiled on him he stole into the manor of one Duke Southerland. He lost his head that very same night.” Gaius said. 

“A sad tale, I know of many others sadder that took place under a sickle moon. But it’s not just the moon I wish to speak of tonight. We’ll be fighting on the morrow, you know that as well as I.” 

Gaius nodded. “Aye, I’d bet a blueberry tart on it.” He said lightly.

“That’s a fool’s bet. And we’re many things, but not fools. It’ll be your countrymen you’re killing. Unless you plan to turn your cloak.” She gripped his shoulder and searched his face. “Can you fight against your homeland?” She asked him.

His sharp brown eyes met hers unflinching. “Ylisse is nothing to me, it’s neither my home nor my master. I may not be one of your Plegians fighting for the privilege of spilling some poor Ylissean bastard’s guts onto the sand. But I’ll fight for gold. And you’ve given me that, so far.”

Robin nodded, and slowly took her hand from his shoulder. “I needed to be sure. Few things can slay quicker than loyalty misplaced. As long as blood flows, the gold does too.” She said. They walked to Orton’s tents in silence. 

They soon reached the tent of the men next on watch duty. Three figures lay fast asleep in their bedrolls. 

The first of them was a stocky man with tousled brown hair and tanned skin snoring loudly. Next to him was a lean boy with a sharp bird like face and braided dark hair, he was silent in his sleep, a few steps from him was a girl with tangled sandy tresses and a bow clutched to her like a doll. 

She poked at the snoring man with her boot. “Up! It’s your watch till dawn.” He didn’t stir. 

Gaius smirked next to her. “Leave him to me Feathers.” Silently he crouched next to him and gingerly placed his hand over his mouth, quickly he pressed his other hand over his nose.

His eyes jolted open and he struggled under Gaius’ hold. His smirk widened and he removed his hand. 

“You sure these guys ought to be on watch Feathers?” He asked as the man gasped for breath. He had switched back to his Valmese accent.

“I’m sorry about my compatriot. He’s a believer that constant vigilance is an important stricture in serving Plegia.” Robin said, her words coated in false amicability.  _ Gaius and I will have a discussion about his awakening methods on the morrow. _

He gasped for a minute before smiling. “Aye, I’ll have to be more wary, around you lot.” He chuckled. “I’m Fieron.” He stuck out his hand.

Robin grasped it tentatively. “Captain Robin, it seems we’ll be fighting together for a time.”

“I’ll pray to Grima that you aren’t assigned wake up duty again.” He laughed genially. 

His two comrades had awoke, the lean one was swaying groggily but the girl was staring at them alertly. Her eyes were a grimly narrowed in suspicion. Robin saw on her face, a combination of wariness and mistrust that she and so many more had worn as children. That they wore still.

_ An orphan. Perhaps as a child during the war. Or older when the sand fever swept through.  _

“Nisa, Wryn, we can’t let the dawn creep past us. Hopefully one of you has something to roast.” They trailed after him into the dark forest.

Gaius turned her way his face shrouded by the darkness of the tent. “Can you sleep now that you’re properly assured I’m content with killing my fellows?” 

“I’ll sleep like a babe now that your loyalty has been confirmed. Sleep well Gaius.” Robin said.

Unlike many of her fellows she didn’t look forward to sleep. Since she was a girl she’d been plagued by nightmares, and she doubted this night would be an exception.

“Sweet dreams, Feathers. We’ll be needing all the sweetness we can get soon.” He stalked off his own way. He didn’t sleep with the others.  _ Perhaps he nests in some tree, bickering with woodland critters for fruit and bees for their honey. _

Stumbling in the dark she came at last to the tent shared with Tharja. Tharja was fast asleep with a small smile on her resting face. Robin didn’t want to know what her dreams entailed. Going to her own bedroll she layed down and prayed that for once sleep would come easily and dreamlessly. 

 

_ “Please! I’m no traitor! Robin help me please! Save me! I’m no traitor. Please!” Vasto cried from his place on the violet carpet.  _

_ “Help, Mother help me! Mother!” He sobbed. A faceless soldier with only a patch of swirling darkness beneath his iron helm slit his throat from ear to ear.  _

_ “No! No!” He cried even as the blood gushed out. Robin stood to before him, she was a little girl and she couldn’t move. She couldn’t scream. Aversa’s eyes were limpid raven pools, and shadows whirled and danced around her as she ignited him. “YOU DID THIS! You! You! YOU!” He repeated as fire dark as night consumed him.  _

_ He stared at Robin and lifted a flaming arm towards Robin. “You! You! You!”  He condemned her. As the flames took his armor, his hair, his face, he changed suddenly.  _

_ The face that replaced his was softer, feminine and warm, with long pale hair and sage brown eyes, she wore a black hierophant's robe. Still aflame she walked before Robin.  _

_ Mother? She thought, still paralysed.  _

_ She lifted a blazing hand and stopped an inch from Robin’s cheek. She could feel the heat.  _

_ “Why so sorrowful, child?” She asked kindly. Robin wished more than anything to run and bury her face in her mother’s flaming cloak, to weep on her shoulder, and apologize a hundred times at least for what she’d done.  _

_ “Is it because you killed me? Is it because you burned me? Because they slit my throat from ear to ear? Because you’re a craven? If not for you I’d have lived!” Her mother accused her face twisted into hatred, her words searing like acid.  _

_ Robin wished she could go to her knees and beg for forgiveness.  _

_ Suddenly her mother’s face returned to a sympathetic smile and her voice was gentle. “You deserve this child, it was your cowardice that slew me. This is your penance.” Her mother placed her burning hand tenderly to Robin’s cheek. The pain was overwhelming but Robin couldn’t scream. She stood mute and terrified and in agony. _

_ The fire consumed her face, then her hair, it spread to her dress, down her legs, and her ragged sandals. Her mother smiled kindly while she burned, her brown eyes completely devoid of pity. _

 

Robin awoke with blood in her mouth. Tangled in her bedroll she took a couple desperate breath. Tasting the copper she put her hand to mouth.  _ Bit my cheek again. _

Remnants of her dream crept back in her mind, she remembered fire and pleading and a pair of gentle and merciless brown eyes but little else. Perhaps it was for the best she didn’t remember. 

She rubbed her eyes and sat up drawing the tent flap back and recoiled at the burst of cool morning air. The first remnants of dawn were creeping into the sky but it was still dark. 

_ Vague dreams of fire and pleading. Always a fair omen. _

Nevertheless she put on a clean garb careful not wake Tharja. One thing that had been made apparently clear during their friendship was the incompatibility of Tharja and mornings. 

It took her longer than usual. She was careful, equipping herself with leather armour in preparation for the border pass, it wasn’t heavy enough to hinder her mobility but hopefully it’d be enough to keep an arrow from her flesh. 

When she was finished she wrapped her cloak around her to ward off the chill and left the tent. She would head to mess tent, and beat the rush. 

_ Today I’ll be first to receive my allotment of watery oatmeal and stale bread. A fair morning indeed.  _

She thought passing the rows of tents with slumbering occupants. She envied them, but knew many dreamed the same as her. No one was really untouched by horror in Plegia. It inevitably came and afterwards you were changed in ways you were irreversibly changed.

Many grew to love it, to embrace horror and death, to create it themselves where they could. They laughed as they hacked and stabbed, as they cursed, to love the feeling of hot blood on their face and hands.

Some turned to stone, pain and death passing by their eyes without a twinge or comment. They killed on command and what they did seemed to trouble them no more than sweeping a floor. 

Then there were those who couldn’t cope at all. Who cried during the night, and screamed in their sleep, the horror would linger in their minds, behind their eyes. They grew as quiet and timid as mice or as angry as rabid hounds. Either way they eventually broke. 

She’d seen it happen at the orphanage. Children staring blankly at the wall for hours on end, children lashing out without discretion at their minders and their fellows both, they wept under their blankets wishing dearly for their dead to return for them, or screamed at the ones who had killed them. They’d been turned out when it was clear that there was no use for them.

She shook the thoughts from her head.  _ I’ll have time for melancholic musings later.  _ She came to the large tent. Several wooden tables had been set up inside and the watchmen from the night before sat at one.

“Captain Robin!” Shouted Fieron. “Will you break your fast with us?” He asked. 

“Very well.”  _ Company will stave off my more mournful recollections. At least for a while. _

A stringy haired, wrinkle faced crone ladled her a bowl of oats and a slice of bread. 

“Thank you.” She said sitting beside the girl.  _ Nisa, that’s what he called her last night. The other was Wyrd. _

“Anything stir during watch?” She asked poking at her breakfast disinterestedly. Her stomach was uneasy but she’d need her strength.

“A few squirrels. But I doubt they’re Ylissean spies.” Fieron said brightly. She examined him more closely in the light. He was tan with a broad friendly face and a wide smile, he had an ax strapped to his back. Certainly a new enlistee. 

“Rats not squirrels.” Said Nisa, her sandy hair obscuring most of her face.

“Sorry?” Fieron asked.

“Ylisseans are rats not squirrels.” She said.

Fieron laughed. “Aye, and we’ll have them skittering back to their burrows soon enough. This war will be over quickly, I bet we’ll be home by a year’s time.”

_ We might be the same age but he’s a child still. He speaks of war like a game. A couple slashes with wooden swords and you’re home for supper.  _

Robin nodded hiding her doubt. “Where do you come from? I don’t recognize you from training.”

“My parents own a fig orchard near the Midmire. My brothers took off for soldiers during the first war, only one made it back and lacking a leg at that, so I figure it’s for me to finish what they can’t.” He explained cheerfully. 

_ As I thought. Well perhaps a touch of battle will open his eyes. Or else close them forever. _

“Your brother rests in Grima’s arms, I’m sure you’ll make him proud.” Wyrd said softly. In the early dawn his eyes were a kind if sorrowful blue and she could see a healing staff at his side.

“I’d be proud too, to see my brother kill Ylisseans. I only had a sister, and the Ylisseans killed her and my mum as well.”

Robin nodded solemnly. There was seldom a soldier in Plegia who hadn’t been touched by loss. Between Ylisse’s crusade, famines, King Gangrel’s usurpation, and the sand fever, it often seemed as though her’s was a country of corpses and mourners.  _ And we’ll make more of both soon.  _

Nisa turned angrily to Wyrd. “And don’t start with my mum and sister being with Grima! What  good was Grima when the soldiers gutted my mum with a spear? Whe...when they took my sister? What good does an embrace do with a spear through your belly?”

Wyrd bowed his head grimly. “The ways of Grima are not known to the living. But death is her domain, and after death comes peace...they suffer no more.” 

Nisa spat to the side. “At least there’s still Ylisseans around to suffer for them. I’ll believe they’re at peace when Ylisstol burns around the Exalt’s bleeding corpse.” 

“I’ll drink to that! To the health of King Gangrel as well!” Fieron lifted his tankard as did Nisa, Wyrd did somewhat reluctantly. Robin smiled tightly and drank as well.

The morning passed relatively quickly. More and more soldiers filtering into the tent receiving their portions and making the tent cramped and noisy. She heard boasting about the upcoming battle, talk of home and the ones they had waiting for them, and prayers.  _ I wonder which provides the most comfort. _

For Robin’s part she skimmed through a strategy tome she had picked up in Grimora and though she stared intently at the page the words seemed to flee from her mind the minute after she read them and she realized she had been reading the same sentence three times.  _ Only nerves. I suppose it’s only proper that the start of a war be nerve racking. _

When breakfast had ended the army marched out. Dark mages and archers in the back and myrmidons and axemen in the front. Wyvern riders flew ahead scouting, no doubt Aversa was among them. 

Robin was fortunate to be a captain, as she was one of the few on horseback. However it also put her in the company with the other riders, who always made Robin deeply regretful she couldn’t march with the rest.

Her horse was a sprightly tawny mare Robin had decided to call Sage. Fortunately for Robin she was sweet tempered.

She heard hoofbeats behind her and she turned as Orton rode beside her. He was a lean man with sparse brown hair and a slim mustache shading his upper lip. He had the smile of a man who knew something you didn’t, and was soon going to make you regret not knowing it. Robin fidgeted uncomfortably as his gaze crept up and down her. 

“Ah, Captain Robin, sleep well?” He asked eyeing her. 

She nodded. “Yes commander, very well.” Robin lied. 

“A shame, I was going to offer my services if you needed a more peaceful slumber.” He smirked. “I assure you, I’m more than strong enough to ward off any nightmares. I’m sure you have room in your tent.” He smiled lavisciously.

“I’m afraid not Commander, my bedroll is snug enough as it is.” Her face stayed placid. Like it or not, he was her superior for the time being.

“That’s no trouble, I have a far more accommodating quarters, or perhaps we could forgo bedding entirely, allow the sands to be our sheets and the skies to be our witness.” 

_ He certainly thinks himself charming doesn't he.  _ She thought ruefully. If given a choice between a sand viper and Orton she would sooner grow an affection for scales.

Robin smiled tightly. “I’m afraid if I took up your proposition, it would be take my mind from the war. I’m sorry Commander, but my duty to Plegia comes first.” She said.  _ Now please ride ahead. Please. _

“Your loyalty is admirable Robin, I’ve always found loyalty to be quite a...becoming trait.” His eyes gleamed.

Robin said nothing and stared ahead at King Gangrel on his black courser and his routine behind him. 

“I do hope you’ll retain that loyalty,” he rode even nearer to her, and his gauntled hand brushed her cheek. “I would hate to see that pretty neck of your’s meet the headsman’s ax.” His hand crept lower, landing on the nape of her neck. 

Robin sat rigid on her horse. She yearned to yank his hand off her, to ride away, she yearned to stick a sword through  _ his  _ neck. She did nothing.

Eventually he drew his hand away. “I’ll see you after the battle Robin, to ensure your...loyalty.” Finally he rode ahead leaving Robin’s hands clenched into fists on the reigns. 

_ Another patriot more than fit for Ylissean arrows. _ She took a deep breath.  _ Can I do what he asks of me?  _ She thought to herself, she’d always done what it took to survive. _ I’d sooner bed with a wyvern than Orton, but then it’s not as though he’s given me a choice. He’ll see me and my unit killed if I refuse.  _ She knew that for a certainty. 

She would have prayed he fell in battle. But prayers had never done her any good. If she wanted a miracle she’d have to create her own. Her mind set to work. 

A few more hours past ever more verdant landscapes though Robin was more than glad when they finally reached the border. She was many things, but an adapt rider was not one of them and her legs ached and cramped as she dismounted. 

The border was mountainous and dusty, the stone cliffs over looked abandoned forts that hadn’t seen use since the last war. It was strange for her to be returning so soon, she’d gone from the border, to Grimora, and back again. Ahead of her King Gangrel dismounted and his routine with him. He had satisfied himself with a shelf of rock overlooking the path that led towards Ylisse.  _ There’s a clear message, if ever there was one.  _

As Orton worked getting the troops in formation for the “parley” Robin sought out Henri. She found him, watching the circling hawks above the cliffs. 

She kept their conversation short but she was certain Henri understood what she wanted. 

By the time she got back to the cliff the archers were perched on the cliff bows at the ready and the mages stood just behind them. Several fighters had been hidden below in the abandoned forts.  She took her place behind Orton and found herself once again chewing at her lip. 

Aversa and King Gangrel had not yet arrived having decided to visit their captive. No one had heard any screams yet, but Robin wouldn’t be putting gold on the captives health.  _ Poor girl. She was in wrong place, under the wrong banner. _

After about an hour of waiting atop the pass, with Robin uncomfortably aware of Orton’s stare, King Gangrel and Aversa returned two burly axemen half carrying the captive by her arms. The captive had a black sack over her face and a pretty pink gown spattered with blood.

Robin didn’t know whether it was her’s or her men’s. However looking at the smirk that had stretched itself across King Gangrel’s face she could certainly make a guess.

Everything about him seemed imbued with anticipation. His eyes were as bright as a lit brazier in the dark of Grima’s temples, though darkness and malice both flickered within them. His cruel curved blade was at his side and he looked even more escatic then he had burning Orton. Aversa was much the same, a sharp smile and hungry eyes fully on display.

Neither King Gangrel nor Aversa said anything to break the uneasy silence that had settled on the pass. 

When the sun was high in the sky the sound of marching could be heard from the other side of the pass. The armour of the mounted Ylisseans glittered and shone under the sun and their green banners flapped grandly in the wind. The exalt and the prince led the routine. 

_ Mostly infantry, a few mages and arches for support. I suppose King Gangrel gave them little enough warning, but horses will be little good in this terrain. King Gangrel chose our place well. Our mages and archers will rain attacks upon them, that they’ll be unable to return. If they try to work their way up, our myrmidons and wyvern riders will set upon them from above. An early retreat would be best for them.  _

Soon the Exalt came to a halt below King Gangrel. His smile was feral, as he called down to her.

“Ho, there your Radiance! I nearly mistook you for the sun!” 

The exalt bowed her head. From afar she could see only honey blonde hair and an austere green robe, next to her was certainly the azure haired prince, unlike his sister he was well armoured. “King Gangrel,” Her voice was calm though it carried far. “I’ve come to retrieve the Duchess of Themis. I’m certain this matter can be settled without the need for captives.”

“Ah yes, the poor little Ylissean lamb that strayed from your flock! You needn’t worry Your Grace, she’s been well cared for.” King Gangrel turned to the axemen. “Bring her forth.”   
The axemen drug her forward, Robin felt something sink in her stomach. She didn’t look away this time, they were all meant to learn.

She glanced at Aversa, who had seemed to ooze anticipation from every pore. King Gangrel cruelly yanked the hood from her head.

Her blonde curls were in disarray, and her face was bruised, blue and purple marring her face. But Robin’s eyes were instantly draw to the blood pooled around her lips. Her eyes are were dull and she stared listlessly below her.

“I’m afraid your poor lamb has fell astray of wolves, your Excellency.”

Even from her perch Robin could see the anger burning in the face of the prince and the grief on the Exalt’s. “Lady Maribelle! What harm has been done to you?”

The captive was silent.

“It seems the wolves have snatched away her tongue.” Aversa said teasingly. “Perhaps her sharp tongue wounded one of the poor wolves, it’s only traditional for captives to be unarmed, isn’t it, your Grace?”

Robin tore at her lip.  _ Even if by some miracle she makes it out with her life, they’ve silenced her forever. Poor, poor, thing. _

The exalt was silent and her eyes were closed tight. King Gangrel on the other hand was as satisfied as a bitch with a bone. 

“No pretty words to speak now, your Excellence? I’m sure your captive appreciates the solidarity.”

The prince drew his sword his eyes blazing with rage. “You sick bastard! I swear I’ll-” The Exalt put a hand on his arm and he choked down the end of his vow.

“Lady Maribelle did you no harm! Wh...What reason did you have to hurt her?” The exalt called up, the anguish plain in her voice.

“You dare talk to me of hurt? Why, how many tongues were forever silence by your father’s  _ righteous  _ crusade? I only took her tongue, her life I left. Let her be grateful, I  _ could  _ take that as well.” King Gangrel’s smile remained but his teeth were bared.

“Come down here and I’ll show you our gratitude!” The prince called his voice dripping with fury. His sword was still drawn and the sun glinted off the razor sharp edge.

King Gangrel laughed. “Come up here boy, and I’ll gladly accept it. That pretty sword of your’s will make a lovely keepsake...along with your sisters head. Mayhaps I’ll mount them above my throne.”

“You want my sword? I’ll give it to you straight through your neck!” The prince yelled. 

“King Gangrel, please-!” The exalt cried once more.

The King didn’t allow her to finish.

“It seems the boy sees fit to threaten my life.” He turned to Orton. “Bring me the Exalt’s glittering head, and the princeling’s sword. Oh, and toss the little lamb back to the Ylisseans.”    
He turned and remounted his coarser and Aversa followed as he rode from the battlefield.

Robin felt oddly faint, the sun seemed to bright, and she couldn’t tear her eye’s from the captive. She was still staring down at the Ylisseans.  _ Does she wish she were with them, does she dream of rescue? Or does she yearn to jump?  _ It almost seemed she’d been forgotten. 

_ She tried to help her people. She remembered Gaius saying. She only tried to help her people. The last time I was here there were clefts in the rocks. Places hidden from the eye.  _

She searched keenly among the cliffs and found one to her back.

Orton was speaking and he’d mounted his Wyvern “Fire at will! Aim for the prince and Exalt!” The troops in the forts and forests down below had mobilized toward the Ylisseans, and the Ylisseans rushed to meet them swords and lances outstretched. She could no longer see the exalt or the prince. Perhaps they’d been taken to the back. 

Orton had ordered her to command the mages. She’d have to rush to them soon. But for now all attention was focused below. 

She walked to the axemen who held the girl over the cliff nearly letting go before pulling her back at the last minute. He guffawed cruelly.  _ He’s teasing her, making a game out of it.  _ The other axemen must’ve gone down to win his glory.

He was young, well muscled with a great forehead that seemed to loom over his face.  _ He’s young and he’s cruelI’ll wager he’s the glory lusting sort. _

“I’m captain Robin, there’s been a mistake, Commander Orton wants you to join with the troops on the ground! You’ll have to hurry to catch up.” She said infusing her voice with urgency.

“But I-” He started.

Robin ploughed ahead. “It dosen’t matter who sends her to her fate, I’ll handle the captive. Believe me you do not want to disobey an order from Commander Orton.” She demanded.

Skepticism flashed across his face for a brief second before he shoved the girl to her and rushed to get down below. 

The girl was dead weight in her arms, and Robin struggled under her weight. Robin would need to rid herself of her quickly before anyone figured out her intentions.  _ Oh, Grima what am I doing, I could be burned for this, hanged, beheaded.  _

The cliff was right there, one quick shove and no one would ever need know what happened. She was just another Ylissean, even if she saved her, she would die later like as not. She wasn’t even a soldier, she had neither sword nor spells and she had a family like as not. A father and mother, sisters, and brothers.

The captive said nothing, unsurprisingly, her eyes were open but Robin couldn’t tell whether or not she was conscience, in her state unconsciousness might well be a mercy. She was feverish as well.  _ If Plegia dosen’t kill her blood loss or fever might do it for us. _

The cleft was only fifteen feet from her but the captive was heavy. Hurriedly Robin managed to stagger to it, the girl’s arm wrapped around her shoulder.

She stored the her in the cleft. She didn’t know whether she’d be heard or not but she spoke anyway. 

“Listen. Like as not the Ylisseans won’t make it up here to rescue you, if you want rescue wait until the battle is underway and go to the first Ylissean soldier you find, go back to your manor, write what you can’t speak, you don’t deserve to die.” The sentiment surprised Robin.  _ They could kill me for this, is her life worth mine? _  “Grima grant you luck.” She said solemnly before running to join the war.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will sell my soul for reviews, any prospective offers will be considered.


	5. Crossed Blades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN/ Hey all, so I guess I actually manages to get a chapter out in a timely fashion.  
> This is going to be a shorter very action oriented chapter and it's my first time writing such a thing, so I'd appreciate any feedback that'd help me improve.  
> Actually any feedback at all, thank you to everyone who has commented, everyone who will comment, and anyone who didn't but still enjoyed the story. You guys keep me writing.

The war had begun. Chrom had refused to retreat back Emmeryn, not yet at least. If they retreated now the wyvern knights and mages would dog them all the way back. 

But if he could slay their commander, chances were they would retreat instead. 

An army without a commander was like a chicken without a head. He vaguely remembered his father once saying. Gangrel had retreated already.  _ He’s got his damn war and he’s not even going to stay to fight it.  _

Chrom’s anger was burning hotter then a forge. Thinking of that wretched black hearted bastard smiling at what he’d done to Maribelle. Even if it wasn’t today he swore he’d take his falchion and hack that wretches’ head off.  _ I’ll finish what my father started.  _ He thought with certainty. 

Chrom wheeled his horse back to his men. He looked up, the day was bright and the sun was facing them.  _ Plegian bastards chose their place well.  _ He saw most of the wyvern riders had taken to the air. 

“Archers, loose at the wyverns!” He cried. The Plegian arches could be just as deadly for their pegasus knights. 

“Mages! Aim for the archers!” Over his head a wave of arrows flew. A few found their marks and were accompanied by distant figures plummeting through the air.  _ That’s barely a start. _   
Chrom turned his attention to the axemen and myrmidons rushing towards them.

“Knights forward!” He commanded. He dug his spurs into his horse and rode forward.

His sword was drawn already, and in the noon sun was reflected off it, as he rode at a brawny axemen. 

The man screamed as the falchion struck home and he tumbled to the ground his innards glistening like red streamers in the sun, Chrom wheeled his horse around and swung at a myrmidon as well. 

Next to him he saw Stahl’s sword separate an axemen’s head from his body, and Frederick ride down a screaming mage. The Shepherds generally stayed near him acting as his guard.

_ Let’s see how Plegian prayers stand up to Ylissean steel.   _

An arrow whizzed by his head missing him by less than an inch but finding his horse’s neck.Iit reared up frightened and Chrom grasped it’s neck barely staying on as it neighed in pain and shook it’s head viciously. Chrom gritted his teeth and swung down, dust billowing around him.

Seeing him dismounted a pig eyed axemen with a face nearly composed entirely of scars decided to try his luck.

“Not so high and mighty now!” The axemen cried swinging his ax in a wide arc. Chrom raised the falchion and the sound of clashing steel rang out. 

“I’ll use yer skull for a tankard!” the axemen boasted their weapons locked. Chrom held fast and sweat began running down the axemen’s scarred face, Chrom noticed his teeth were nearly all black with rot. 

The steel snickered as he forced his blade forward and Chrom smiled. He had slipped into the mindset of battle were nothing but the clamor of steel on steel and the hot blood running down your blade had any meaning.

The axemen grunted and shifted his axe slightly. Chrom said nothing only thrust his blade up, the axemen staggered back and Chrom brought the falchion down on his neck. A spray of crimson and a gurgle of pain was all he left as he collapsed bonelessly to the ground.   
Chrom whirled looking for another opponent when something hit him forcing him from his feet. He flew backward and hit the ground hard. Dazed he stared above him the sun burning bright above him. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and he tentatively moved him limbs.  _ Nothing broken, I need...I need-  _ A strong grip pulled him to his feet. “Sully?!” he exclaimed.

“This is no time for sleeping, there’s a battle on! If our weapons ain’t red and dripping by the end of then we ought to be whimpering in the back with the women!” Sully said. 

A myrmidon ran at her sword drawn and Sully turned, her lance quick as a hummingbird’s wings skewered him through the throat.    
“You’re one down Milord.” She pulled her lance free and ran forward her lance held aloft.

“Trust in me, I’ll catch up!” 

Ahead he could see Stahl dismounted as well, crossing blades with a red clad flaxen haired myrmidon. Chrom ended it quickly. 

A low slash stole the boys legs out from under him and he collapsed with a scream. As the boy bled into the dusty ground something warm and satisfied spread through Chrom’s veins. He bared his teeth in a grin. Slaying Plegians felt like vengeance, like justice.  _ That’s one for Maribelle. _

“Thanks for the help!” Stahl said breathily.    
Chrom nodded. Then plunged back into the fray. He worked his way up the rocky hills. Passing quickly by other battle locked soldiers. 

An axemen swung at him from above and Chrom thrust his sword up meeting the blow. The ax fell to the ground with a clang and one slash later the axemen followed.

He continued up, darting to the right as a burst of crackling black energy hurtled towards him. He saw the caster a white haired mage cackling madly, his hand outstretched. 

Chrom clenched his teeth.  _ Thrice damned dark mages.  _ Another bolt flew rapidly towards him and he threw himself to the left, dust billowed where it landed. A javelin pierced the air landing a foot away from the mage and lodging itself in the dirt. 

Another javelin quickly followed and the mage darted back, and flicked a bolt of darkness towards Sumia. She flew wide and sped towards Chrom. She and her pegasus were framed by the sun and she seemed almost other earthly bathed in it’s light.   
“The commander is uphill milord, need a ride?” she asked, her hazel eyes glowing.

“Only if you vow not to drop me.” Chrom leapt onto the back of her pegasus. 

She took to the air and Chrom felt his stomach drop.  _ Naga.  _ He thought as they hurtled through the air. _ I was meant for melees not flights.  _ His face burning red he wrapped his arms around her waist.    
“There!” She cried pointing at a wyvern rider about fifty feet ahead. He was low to the ground, striking then pulling back before the strikes could be returned.

Chrom teeth ground together. “Land.” he commanded. 

Sumia pulled the reins back and flew lower, the wind brushed through their hair and Sumia wove in the air dodging arrows and spells alike. Chrom tightened his arms ever so slightly and tried not to notice that her brown hair smelled slightly like wildflowers. 

They landed on the top of the pass, dust blowing around them. Chrom leapt nimbly from the Pegasus, and quickly found the commander. 

“Give me cover,” he commanded Sumia.   
One of his own knights was meleeing with a red garbed myrmidon when the commander swooped down burying his ax in the man’s back. He crumpled without a word and the commander yanked his dripping ax out with one fluid movement.

Chrom dashed forward sword drawn, the commander turned a second before Chrom swung. In the nick of time he brought up his ax.    
Chrom kept his the pressure on the ax but the commander pushed back. Chrom stood his ground leaving imprints on ground as he was pushed back.

_ This one is stronger then his minions.  _

“I have to say,” the commander huffed. “I didn’t you think you’d be so obliging to deliver yourself to me!” He mocked, his voice full of tension. 

“Aye, delivering death personally. Consider it a favor!” Chrom returned, his teeth clenched with strain. 

Chrom feinted he was poised to swing left but instead swung to the right aiming for his the commander’s leg. His ax was too slow but before the sword met his flesh he yanked the reigns of his wyvern and it emitted an agonized screech as Chrom’s sword entered it’s hide.

_ Damn. _

Chrom dove forward his sword straight in front of him, this time it entered and the commander gasped. He yanked the reigns back again pulling Chrom’s sword from his abdomen coated in fresh blood.

“B...Bastard.” the commander choked out, one hand on his ax the other clutching his side.   
A smile stretched across Chrom’s face.  _ Time to finish this.  _ He sprinted towards the commander sword outstretched when he heard a piercing scream from behind him.  _ Sumia?! _

He paused and turned his head. Sumia was on her hands and knees panting on the ground, her pegasus had taken to the skies. 

“Chrom!” She yelled, her face twisted in desperation. He started towards her, then turned abruptly. The commander’s ax was midswing the black blade hurtling towards him, Chrom raised his sword knowing he wouldn’t be quick enough.  _ No!  _ Was his only thought.

Then the commander screamed and tumbled to the ground. Chrom heard something sizzle and when the commander raised his head from the dirt it was covered in burns. 

He was whimpering in the dirt and Chrom wasted no time, he raised the falchion and brought it down piercing the commander’s head. It went through his skull like a fruit knife through a mushed apple. He yanked the falchion out, glistening with blood. 

A rush of satisfaction ran through him.  _ Not Gangrel himself, but a good enough substitute.  _

“Chrom!” It was Sumia again her voice laced with pain. He was already darting toward her, when the bolt took him in the arm. He screamed. The dark magic coarsed through him like a current and for a second his limbs were as jerky as a puppet’s. 

The white haired mage cackled from below him. His eyes watered but he kept his feet. Fury flared within him as hot as the volcanoes of Cho’sin. 

He leapt the ten feet from the top of the pass ending in a roll. The mage fired another blast hitting the rocky cliff a foot from him and spraying bits of gravel onto the dirt.

The mage scampered back but Chrom was far from finished. His next strike was an inch from taking off the mage’s ear.

“Almost got me!” the mage said, he laughed breathily as a strike of Chrom’s sliced into his torso. Blood bubbled through his thin robes. And the mage smiled brightly and his eyes tightened. “Blood!” He cried something like ecstasy in his voice.

_ Not deep enough, I’ll make sure that bastard never chortles again.  _ Chrom gave him no quarter nor time to cast and pressed forward the mage barely dancing out of range of his strikes, his wound still bleeding freely. 

Chrom sensed something behind him and spun quickly, just in time to meet a steel sword that would have severed his head. As their blades met he saw it belonged to a pale haired woman in a swirling black cloak. 

For a second they were still, their swords crossed, both drenched in the blood of their enemies.    
He met her eyes over their crossed blades, they were narrowed against the sun but he could see they were a deep brown.  _ They could almost be kind.  _ The strange thought came unbidden to Chrom’s mind.  _ She’s a Plegian, any kindness they show is only a cruel joke.  _ He immediately corrected.

He forced her back and swung fiercely, only for her to hastily but clumsily parry his swing. This time there was no staring, she leapt back and swung left, Chrom parried and returned swinging overhead. 

Their blades sang together as they clashed. 

The woman swung down, Chrom parried, left, right, back slash, the woman cried out as his blade bit into her thigh but two strikes later she cut his shoulder, another parry swiftly followed. “I’ll send consolation to your husband!” Chrom taunted swinging over head, she nimbly darted from range.    
She returned lunging forward quick as a viper, Chrom backpedaled quickly nearly tripping.

“I’d hate to be discourteous, first I’ll send one to your sister!” She cried her blade glinting as she swung left.

Chrom hacked, the woman slashed, he swung left she swung right, and the clangs were as beautiful as anything he’d ever heard a minstrel play. 

_ The song of battle.  _

He swung wide and she bent back, a lock of white hair drifted gently to the ground. She laughed though it was half a huff. 

“Don’t waste the parchment, I’d hate to rob the dead!” He rebuted. 

She threw herself to the left to avoid his cleave and came back swinging, he was forced back as she pressed forward her strikes quick and vicious as bolts of lightning. 

“I hate to be wasteful! I could send her back your pretty sword instead, she’ll be wanting it back!” She said, as they danced, sparks flying from their blades.    
“Perhaps you’d like a closer view!” Chrom taunted, blocking one of her clumsier strikes and going on the offensive, he beat her back his strikes raining down on her, hard and furious.

The woman rolled on the ground appearing to the side and side swinging quickly. “I can examine it at my leisure once you’re dead!” 

Chrom feinted, his sword plunging left and leaving a tear in the woman’s cloak. A horn sounded piercing through the sound of battle. Her eyes widened and she cried out. “Tharja!” 

Chrom pressed on but her blocks were inelegant and she was retreating back. Chrom caught a flash of black hair from above then they were enveloped in sand. 

_ Damn it all, I can’t see a foot in front of me.  _ He swung blindly hoping to find her. But when at last the sand dissipated she was gone. 

He strained his eyes searching for her on the horizon.   
He heard the clamor of horse hooves and then Frederick was before him. 

“The Plegians are retreating through the pass Milord! The archers and mages retreated earlier in the battle, we believe they are planning an ambush.”   
Chrom pushed his sweaty locks from his eyes panting. “It doesn't matter, we need to get Emm back to Ylisstol.”    
Frederick nodded his assent. “Aye Milord. I could deliver you to the back, I believe your horse was slain.”   
Chrom nodded, allowing Frederick to deliver him back down the pass.

They passed worn looking dusty soldiers with their weapons stained red. In the back he found Sumia cradling Maribelle. 

She was stroking Maribelle’s hair and murmuring reasurrences Chrom couldn’t make out. Emmeryn stood by her face wracked with grief, guarded by Phila and her pegasus knights. Even through the horror and grief seeing Emm and Sumia safe brought a wave of relief. 

He looked to Emm. It took him a minute to choke out the question. “Is she dead.” He asked his voice heavy with grief. 

“N...No. She’s only...I can’t even imagine what’s happened to her.” Sumia said. 

Maribelle’s eyes were open but glassy and there was emptiness were once there’d been  passion and vigor.  _ You don’t have to be dead to be lifeless.  _ A cruel voice inside him noted.

Emm nodded, looking as though she carried the very weight of her world on her shoulders. “Sumia is correct, the healers say that other than what’s been done to her...to her tongue her wounds are minor. We will be returning her to Duke Themis on our way back. 

Chrom nodded and layed a comforting arm on her shoulder. “They’ve retreated Emm. The battle is ours. We won.” He said. Hoping to Naga it’d brighten the darkness looming over Emm even a little.

She stared out at the battle field. The sky was aflame dyed a deep red and streaked with gold, and the sun set on the dead and dying.

“Did we?” She asked.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sparks really flew between Robin and Chrom, huh? (I'm very sorry)


End file.
